Non-Fiction fumes are FREAKING me out.

You told me I was beautiful last night and for the first time in a long very long time, I actually felt beautiful. It didn't matter that I was wearing sweats and covered in paint wrapped up in my ratty blanket. It didn't matter that my make up had rubbed off hours before and my hair was having a party without me. You told me that is the reason you stare. I always thought it was because of the ridiculousness of my life. I run into walls constantly. I look drunk when I walk in high heels. I dance as I unload the dishwasher. I can't hold still. Ever. I'm the annoying girl that shakes the desk in class. I can't even hold still when I sleep. The things that keep happening to me appear to be a work of fiction. But this is not fiction. This is my life.

I snuck back into my house last night at 1:49. But my parents didn't notice. They thought I was my druggy brother-if they actually heard me. But according to my stealth, I don't think they heard me. I crawled up the stairs and tiptoed to my room with exceptional talent. This has nothing to do with anything. But it took me a long time to fall asleep and then I woke up before the sun did. So I started to paint. (When I can't sleep, I paint. Which is why I'm always covered in paint.) And I got high off all the fumes. I did not enjoy that.  So I ate some toast. Which is my sanity. Toast is now my sanity. I really, really love toast. And fun fact, my mom does not have the ability to make toast. She can't do it. The toast she makes is terrible, no matter what.

I'm watching Gossip Girl right now. I hate it. I really, really hate it. But I'm still watching it. Please judge me. You know what else I REALLY HATE? Throwing up. I really, really hate it. The hate I have for throwing up puts Gossip Girl to shame. I pretend I'm okay with it because I don't know what else to do. I pretend I'm okay. I'm not.

I never planned on living this long. I really don't know why. I just thought that I would be the kid that died young. Doing something stupid, getting some rare disease, being murdered, falling down a mountain. I don't know. I've come close to all this crap. But I'm making these STUPID decisions for my future, and I don't know what to do because I never planned on having to make these decisions. Though it doesn't matter anyways because my parents are making the decisions for me. You know, because they think I'm a slut. Which sadly, I think I am okay with that.

I apologize for this post. I've been in a closed room painting way too long today.

Damn the fumes.